


Don't Let Me Get Me

by Athos of Trevilles boudoir (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Athos%20of%20Trevilles%20boudoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drink has never made Athos a socialite, and drink is the cause of one big problem.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Reposted as a one-shot rather than 8 short chapters.</em><br/>Revised and rewritten in some points.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Get Me

_‘Athos has been through a lot, recently, don’t leave him alone tonight.’_  
  
The words that Treville had spoken earlier echoed around Aramis’ head as he and Porthos entered into the bar. They silently scanned the room, looking for the tell tale dark blue jacket that they recognised all too well.  
  
And there he was.  
  
In the corner, curled up over a bottle of wine, three or four empty bottles already rolling around the table each time the Musketeer placed a bottle on the table or lifted it. The two men sighed as they made their way over to the table, sitting opposite him.  
  
“Come on, Athos, time to go home. You’re drunk already, I can smell it on you >”  
  
“I don’t wish to leave.”  
  
“Yea? Well tough.”  
  
Porthos stood, making his way around the table to clamp a hand down heavily on his brother’s shoulder.  
  
“Unhand me, thief.”  
  
Porthos’ hand tightened as the colour slowly drained from his face.  
  
“What did you just call me?”  
  
“Porthos, he’s drunk, he says things like this when he gets past a certain point. He never means it.”  
  
“Yes I did. Get your filthy hands off of me, thief.”  
  
Porthos let his hand fall from the man’s shoulder and took a step back.  
  
“Porthos. Stay calm. Athos, come now, it’s time to go home and rest up. You’re needed at the garrison for guard duty tomorrow morning.”  
  
“Don’t talk to me, whore.”  
  
Aramis stared at him, swallowing softly.  
  
“Come now, insult us all you like but we’re taking you home.”  
  
Both men stood forward, pulling him up, a little more violent than they needed to. Athos grunted, stumbling badly on his feet as they let go.  
  
“I said _unhand me_.”  
  
Aramis and Porthos glanced at each other before stepping back. Athos collapsed back into his chair.  
  
“I do not wish to be seen with a thief and a murder, and a man who will screw any woman who looks at him – and has committed high treason.”  
  
Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, both of them getting angry now.  
  
“Make your own way home, get to the garrison yourself. We never want to see you again _brother_.”  
  
Both men turned around and left, not even bothering to look back.  
  
//  
  
Athos kept drinking despite the interruption, staring at the bottom of a wine bottle with increasing frequency.  
  
Thief.  
  
Murderer.  
  
Whore.  
  
The words he has said to the two men he was closest to in the world kept spinning around his mind, yet guilt never filled his stomach. He had spoken the truth.  
  
//  
  
It wasn’t until the tavern keeper made his way over and cut him off that the amount of alcohol he had actually drunken that evening hit him. He staggered as he stumbled to his feet, having to grip onto the table to hold himself up as he allowed his stomach to settle. Groaning softly, the Musketeer made his way through the tavern and out of the door, swaying from side to side as he walked.  
  
‘We never want to see you again, brother.’  
  
The words were screams of pain in his head, knives in his already broken heart as he realised what had happened that night. He had pushed Aramis and Porthos away and now they didn’t want to see him again. He had to go and apologise to them. He had to let them know he was sorry and that he never meant to say the things he had.  
  
Athos stumbled down the street, down the road, down the route to what he thought was to Porthos’ sleeping quarters. It was a hard journey and Athos wished the path would just remain _still_ , walking down it was like walking across the deck of a ship in a bad storm. Groaning, he fell to his knees, clutching his head as he collapsed on the ground, staring up at the sky.  
  
 _“SIR! MOVE!”_  
  
//  
  
As the cart wheel went over Athos’ chest, he didn’t really feel any pain. It felt like there was something heavy on his chest, of course, but the sound of cracking bones didn’t cause any pain. Not until the second wheel went over the same track as the first. Athos yelled out in pain as he felt sharpened bone slicing into organs. He couldn’t breathe well, choking a little each time he took a breath of air into his lungs – not that it was doing him much good. The air merely slipped out of each hole left by his ribs. A coughing fit took him, blood pooling in his mouth and slipping out with each jolt of his body – jolts that caused severe pain to rush through his body.  
  
There was someone by his side now, not that he could see through the murky darkness that was covering his eyes. He grunted as they tried to move him, a whine of pain slipping through his lips. His breath was coming in quicker inhalations now; trying to get past the pain that threatened to drive him mad. More and more people were gathering as two people carefully tugged him onto some kind of board. Athos was lifted into the air, being manoeuvred through the streets to the nearest physician. He stared at the stars until the blackness took over his vision.  
  
//  
  
The urgent knocking on Treville’s door had caused him to think the worse – the King was in danger and was summoning him; the Queen had been taken ill; a Musketeer had been found dead.  
  
Standing in the mortuary, staring down at the face he knew all too well, Treville found himself wishing that the King was in danger, or the Queen needed a Musketeer to guard her whilst she recovered. Shakily, he reached out to brush Athos’ fringe away from his eyes, making sure they were closed fully to give him a peaceful look. Bile rose in the Captain’s stomach as he saw the marks under the pale white shirt the Musketeer still wore. How had this happened? Had Aramis and Porthos left Athos to his own devices? Had this been purposeful on Athos’ part? Or had this simply been a tragic accident? He supposed that he would never know. And with a nod at the man standing by the slab, he turned, hearing the faint rustle of fabric as Athos was covered once more.  
  
//  
  
Treville stood in the middle of the garrison courtyard, watching the men gathered in front of him. They all looked confused and Treville caught the look shared between Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan.  
  
“Gentlemen, I have called you all here today for something rather serious, I’m afraid.”  
  
He was silent, licking his dry lips as he looked around at the men standing with tilted heads.  
  
“In the early hours of the morning, one a man was crushed by a cart, suspected to be a member of our garrison. I was summoned this morning to the mortuary to identify him and I hate to say that, it was, indeed, a Musketeer.”  
  
Everyone looked around, counting the missing three spots, all trying to figure out who it could have been; men looking at each other horrified.  
  
“d’Athos de La Fère died last night. For those of you who were close to him, his funeral is taking place in La Fère; his body is being buried on his own ground, as were his wishes to me when he joined. It will be this coming Friday. Back to your duties.”  
  
But even as he said it and turned around, he could hear the suppressed sobs coming from the three men who were probably the only friends that Athos had ever had.  
  
// _Funeral_ //  
  
d’Artagnan was the first to stand forward after Treville. He was the first of the group to see Athos laying in the coffin, dressed in his Musketeer best. Tears slowly welled up in the young man’s eyes as he reached out to cup the hand that was ever so delicately wrapped around the hilt of the soldier’s sword. d’Artagnan opened his mouth to speak but ended up choking a little over his words.  
  
“Athos... I don’t... I don’t know what to say... I just don’t understand why you would do this, if you did do this. It’s what some of the men at the garrison are saying but I don’t... I don’t think you wanted to die. You couldn’t want something like that... Even with all your issues with Milday. You were so happy recently, unless I missed something... And I just... You’re like a Father to me, you know. I came here, to Paris, challenged you to a duel to kill you and then... Even after all that you took me under your wing. You trained me and I... I could never have been as good a Musketeer that I am now if it wasn’t for you. Even if you did do this to yourself... I don’t... I don’t think any less highly of you. But I don’t think you did this to yourself. You would never do this. I love you, Athos, and I hope that you’re at peace.”  
  
d’Artagnan leant down to press a soft kiss to Athos’ forehead, backing away as tears began to stream down his face, battling to keep his emotions in control as he walked to Treville’s waiting arms.  
  
//  
  
Porthos was next to stand forward, eyes dancing over Athos. It still hadn’t sunken in that this was actually happen. He was still searching for that delicate chest movement that indicated his breathing, the flicker of his eyelids as they moved in his sleep. Because that’s all death was, right? One big eternal sleep. He cleared his throat as he shifted where he stood, eyes choosing to stare at the white silk lining in the roof of the coffin rather than at the too pale face of his brother.  
  
“Athos... I... I’m sorry about what happened that night. I never meant to get violent with you in the tavern... I just got angry. You know how it goes. You’ve done it before... Like, when d’Artagnan- That probably isn’t the best thing to bring up right now... God Athos. I hate hearing all these rumours about you, you know? That you chose to lay down in front of the cart. God damn, why couldn’t you quit drinking? This is because you were drunk and I can’t... This isn’t fair. You should be standing with us today. We should be on guard duty, protecting the Queen. All four of us together. The Three Musketeers and the lap dog. Come on buddy... Wake up. Please. I can’t lose you Athos...”  
  
His hand reached out and clamped down on the same shoulder that he had yanked Athos up with in the tavern that night, and began to shake him. Softly, at first, but the ferocity sped up until Treville moved forward to take hold of his hand, making him let go as the tears began to fall.  
  
//  
  
Aramis was the last to stand forward. He’d been crying for a long time now, that long he didn’t think he could cry any more. Yet when he stood forward to look down at his fallen brother, fresh hot tears streamed down his face. He said nothing for a long time, just stood there staring, still unable to take it in. Unable to face the guilt. The last thing he said to Athos was that he never wanted to see him again. He would never live that down. He should have manhandled Athos out of the tavern and seen him home. Then none of them would be in La Fère and Athos would probably be running d’Artagnan through drills. It seemed like hours before his cracked voice finally spoke out, creaking on his words.  
  
“A-Athos? I don’t- don’t know if you can hear me. I hope you can. I hope you know that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I did want to see you again I was just... Just shocked to hear those words come out of your mouth and I just... I hope you can forgive me. I just... You’re my brother. You’re not like a brother. You _are_ my brother and I don’t know how we’re all going to get on without you. The Musketeers will never have some as talented as you. Never. Treville’s going to lose his remaining hair with you gone. And Porthos is going to get into bar fights with the Red Guards... Who’s gonna come to his aid now? And who’s going to train d’Artagnan? And keep me out of trouble? We need you Athos... Please come back to us.”  
  
Aramis had collapsed to his knees now, sobbing into his hands. His usual blue cape was now black and had surrounded him, as though his sadness would envelop him and take him to death. He would deserve it; after all, it was probably his fault that Athos had died. He could have taken him home, even with the things he had said but he still allowed his anger to get the better of him.  
  
He stayed by the coffin for a good long time until Porthos and d’Artagnan fetched him, leading him into the house that Athos had spent so much money repairing after Milady had burned it down.  
  
// _Four years on_ //  
  
The Three Musketeers got down from their horses and lead them into the field that was almost ankle high with grass. They took off what they needed; and what their horses didn’t need to carry any longer before they made their way into the house, and out of the pouring rain. Aramis stepping forward with the key. They went through to their selected rooms before meeting again to dry off in the kitchen, Aramis not appearing.  
  
“Are we going to see him now, or shall we wait till it stops raining?”  
  
“I think Aramis is already out there... Maybe we should go give him some company.”  
  
“Is he still guilty? You know Athos... He would have forgiven him the moment he was sober.”  
  
Porthos and d’Artagnan stared out the window into the back garden, watching Aramis as he knelt by the white headstone. They had chosen to lay it out underneath the main tree of the garden, making sure it wasn’t the one with the negative memories for Athos. d’Artagnan sighed and dropped the towel onto a chair before bracing himself. He ran out into the freezing rain once more, reaching out to place a hand on Aramis’ shoulder. He looked up with a pale face, and d’Artagnan wasn’t sure if he was crying or if it was just the rain.  
  
“You know it’s all alright, don’t you? Athos forgives you.”  
  
The younger knelt down by him, placing the white rose from his bag onto the neat flower bed.  
  
“I just wish I could hear him say it.”  
  
“You will, one day.”  
  
Both Aramis and d’Artagnan looked up at Porthos as he appeared at the grave side. He nodded at them and they both stood, standing side-by-side as they stared down at the white stone. It was then when the rain lifted and the sun decided to come out, almost instantly heating their freezing skin as they looked up at it. The Three Musketeers moved to go inside, dry off and dress in new clothes before eating when they would inevitably come and talk to Athos, one by one.  
  
But for now, Athos just watched them. He missed them, that was for sure, but Athos would rather waste his time being lonely then have his brothers called to him much too soon.


End file.
